The night was wrong.
It carried the unsettling stillness of a world holding its breath, as though fate itself lingered just beyond the horizon, waiting to unveil its hand. Above the velvet canopy of darkness, a brilliant full moon hung like an unblinking eye—the cold gaze of some forgotten god—watching the lands of mortals in silence, surrounded by an ocean of indifferent stars.
Lloyd stood alone in the deserted street, unable to move.
The shock of everything that had just happened had yet to fade. Golden flames had consumed the endless void, reducing illusion to ash, and in their wake, a world buried deep within memory slowly unfolded before him.
He remained frozen only for a moment before reason returned. Taking two cautious steps forward, he gazed upon the familiar city with equal measures of nostalgia and dread.
Its towering buildings pierced the heavens like countless sacred spears. By day, the streets overflowed with devoted pilgrims. By night, prayers and hymns echoed without end, never yielding to silence.
He had done it.
He had returned to the deepest reaches of memory—to the City of Faith, the Holy Sanctuary... the Seven Hills.
In Lloyd's understanding, he had once been one of the Medanzo Demon Hunters, guardians of the Cathedral of Saint Naro. Every street, every stone, every corner of this sacred city was engraved into his soul. Following the route etched into memory, he walked toward the distant glow of candlelight and the endless chorus of holy song.
The hymn grew clearer with every step.
He knew he was approaching the ancient cathedral.
His footsteps became heavy, and then another rhythm joined them.
Two sets of footsteps merged into one.
Out of the darkness, a man silently passed beside him.
Lloyd stared blankly.
The stranger wore magnificent plate armor over a white robe embroidered with golden trim. A nailed sword rested at his waist, while his face remained concealed beneath a steel helmet.
It was an emotionless iron mask.
Within the darkness behind its eye slits, unseen eyes quietly surveyed the world. The iron cross hanging upon his chest struck gently against his breastplate, producing crisp metallic chimes, and to that quiet rhythm, he softly hummed a familiar hymn.
"...047."
The name escaped Lloyd's lips in a whisper.
He could not see the man's face, yet instinct allowed no room for doubt.
This was 047.
The man who bore the name of Medanzo.
The strongest shield of Saint Naro Cathedral.
047 never noticed Lloyd.
Or rather... he could not.
Lloyd did not truly exist here.
This was a world of memory. Everything before him had happened many years ago. He had not returned through time to change the past—he was merely walking once more through echoes that had never ceased to exist.
The night had grown deep.
The Cathedral of Saint Naro gradually emerged from the darkness ahead, bathed in ceaseless hymns. Endless candles shimmered like a sea of living stars, their light rippling in gentle waves.
White stone steps stretched before the cathedral, linking the Seven Hills to the sacred sanctuary above. They resembled a stairway ascending into heaven itself, and every believer dreamed of climbing them, believing they would one day enter the glorious Kingdom of God.
Several figures already stood upon those steps.
There were scarcely more than a dozen.
Like 047, each wore heavy armor, a nailed sword resting within its scabbard, the sharpened edges of steel gleaming beneath the moon.
The Medanzo Demon Hunters stood as motionless as statues carved from granite, suffocating killing intent frozen around them. Only when 047 arrived did the stillness finally begin to thaw.
"Finished your patrol?" 051 asked.
"It's done," 047 answered casually. "The Seven Hills aren't very large, and tonight's curfew emptied the streets. Didn't take long."
Although 047 was the bearer of the Medanzo title and the unquestioned leader of these hunters, there was no arrogance in him. Just as during training years ago, he treated everyone not as subordinates, but as comrades who had survived countless battles together.
Standing several steps away, Lloyd frowned.
He searched among the armored hunters again and again.
He could not find himself.
It was as though he simply wasn't here.
Yet according to the code of the Medanzo Demon Hunters, he should have been standing among them this very moment. It was his duty.
His thoughts were interrupted as 047 began climbing the stairs once more.
One step after another.
Until he reached the highest platform.
That was his place.
From there, every inch of the square before Saint Naro Cathedral lay within his sight. Any enemy foolish enough to launch a frontal assault would never escape his eyes.
051 walked over to stand beside him.
There was something strangely familiar about this hunter.
Though Lloyd could not remember him, nor recall the face hidden beneath that cold iron mask, an inexplicable sense of familiarity lingered stubbornly in his heart.
It was a contradiction.
And somehow, deeply unsettling.
"You're not nervous?" 051 suddenly asked.
"What is there to be nervous about?" 047 replied lightly before continuing to hum the nameless hymn.
Most nights were little more than routine.
After all, this was Saint Naro Cathedral.
This was the Seven Hills.
If there existed a place untouched by darkness, it was surely here.
Its holy radiance was overwhelming.
For demons to invade this place would be no different from marching willingly to their deaths.
There had been attacks before.
Several of them.
Every single one had been crushed beneath the hunters' blades. Protected by the sacred armor of Medanzo, no fiend had ever crossed the final step leading to the cathedral.
They were powerful.
They were confident.
Perhaps... too confident.
051 slowly shook his head.
Something felt different tonight.
The sudden curfew had wrapped the city in suffocating silence. Nothing stirred.
Only the hymns drifting from the cathedral behind them disturbed the stillness.
It was a strange sensation.
As though Saint Naro Cathedral had become the last lonely island amid an endless sea of darkness.
Beyond the light, something wicked churned unseen, waiting only for the wind to carry it forward and extinguish every remaining flame.
047 seemed to know something.
Yet he said nothing.
He simply continued humming that nameless hymn.
He was not blessed with a beautiful voice. It was rough, weathered by years of battle. Fortunately, the cathedral choir drowned it out, leaving only the faintest fragments for 051 to hear.
After a long silence, 047 stopped.
"Don't worry," he said quietly. "If demons come, we'll draw our swords and kill them."
He smiled beneath the helmet.
"Just like always."
His hand rested upon the hilt of his nailed sword.
Moonlight slid across the blade's polished steel, carrying with it a chill sharp enough to freeze the soul.
051 sighed helplessly.
As expected of the man who bore the name of Medanzo.
047 remained as steady as an iron mountain.
As long as he stood here...
Everything still felt under control.
Perhaps...
That was precisely why he had become Medanzo.
"You really do seem relaxed," 051 said. "You're even singing."
"It's only so I won't forget."
047 smiled faintly.
"It has no name. No written score. Only a melody passed from one voice to another. Once forgotten... it's gone forever."
"I heard it years ago."
"From a very respectable old man."
As he spoke, memories surfaced.
Long ago, during an escort mission, he had protected an elderly man named Lloyd Medici on his journey to a secluded refuge.
The old man had hummed this melody the entire way.
He claimed it was an ancient sacred hymn.
Everything about it—its history, its lyrics, even its name—had vanished into the endless river of time.
Only the melody survived.
Even he had learned it from a dying ascetic.
The old man had been astonishingly gentle, nothing like the ruthless figure described in countless rumors.
"Perhaps," the old man had suddenly said, "we've been singing it wrong all along."
The hymn had endured for countless generations, carried only through fragile human memory.
And memory was never perfect.
Perhaps verses had already disappeared forever.
Perhaps the melody itself had slowly changed with every passing singer.
After saying that, the old man fell silent.
He simply continued humming with quiet stubbornness.
Only then did 047 realize how old he truly was.
Old enough that even memory had begun to betray him.
He repeated the melody again and again, desperate to carve it deeper into his fading mind before it vanished forever.
Back then, 047 had not understood.
Now...
He finally did.
Standing nearby, Lloyd found himself unconsciously humming the same ancient hymn.
It matched the melody within his memories almost perfectly.
During the ritual in which the Secret Blood had been implanted, that same old man had stubbornly sung this very tune.
"051."
047 suddenly spoke again, perhaps hoping to ease the younger hunter's unease.
"What are you planning to do after all this?"
"After what?"
"Retirement."
047 chuckled.
"When I retire, I'm heading to Old Dunling."
"I've got two friends waiting there."
"We're going to open a detective agency together."
"I think... it'll be a good life."
His gaze shifted toward the iron mask beside him.
He searched the darkness beneath it, hoping to find bright, hopeful eyes.
Instead, 051 quietly looked away.
"I... haven't thought that far."
"I only became a Demon Hunter recently."
"Oh, then you'd better start planning."
047 laughed.
"Life deserves a little planning."
051 fell silent.
After hesitating for a long while, he finally asked in a cautious voice,
"...Could you take me with you?"
"What?"
"To Old Dunling."
"I think I'd like it there too."
His head lowered, the iron mask facing the stone steps.
047 froze.
Then, with visible reluctance, he sighed.
"I'm afraid I can't, 051."
"...Why?"
"Because we're from different generations."
047 deliberately forced a cheerful tone.
"By the time I retire... you'll probably still be serving."
051 blinked in confusion, unable to tell whether that was truly rejection or merely another joke.
Demon Hunters served in different generations.
051 was among the newest.
047 had spent years crossing blades with demons, earning at last the honored name of Medanzo.
"...But," 047 added gently, "I'll wait for you in Old Dunling."
"So make me one promise."
"Stay alive long enough to get there."
A Demon Hunter's life belonged to endless war.
Retirement was little more than a beautiful dream.
No one ever knew who would survive long enough to see it.
051 nodded softly.
For the first time that night, the oppressive weight upon his heart seemed just a little lighter.
Then—
The bells rang.
Deep.
Ancient.
Their echoes rolled across the silent night.
Lloyd froze.
A second bell answered.
Then a third.
Soon countless bells rang together from every direction, their voices surging like an army of armored warriors marching across the earth.
Again.
And again.
The silence shattered.
The sacred hymns disappeared beneath the overwhelming chorus of iron bells until nothing remained except the relentless tolling of destiny itself.
It sounded less like a warning...
And more like the opening movement of a celebration that would last until dawn.
047 understood immediately.
His eyes ignited with a brilliance like daylight.
With a single motion, he drew his nailed sword.
Its pale blade flashed beneath the moon like a newborn star.
"All units!"
He roared.
"Stay alert!"
None of the other hunters understood what was happening.
But they trusted him.
Without hesitation, every one of them unsheathed their swords in perfect unison.
Steel sang.
The countless ringing blades merged into a single thunderous cry that seemed capable of shaking even the heavens.
Watching from the side, Lloyd suddenly realized the truth.
His face drained of color.
"No!"
He screamed.
"Run!"
For one terrible moment, he could no longer distinguish memory from reality.
He rushed toward 047 in desperation, grabbing at him with all his strength, trying to drag him away from those fatal steps.
But his hands touched nothing.
047 never moved.
A crushing agony swallowed Lloyd whole.
He struck him.
Pulled at him.
Beat against him with desperate fists.
Until finally...
He collapsed to his knees.
Breathing raggedly, trembling with helpless rage, he let out a broken growl that sounded more like an injured beast than a man.
Everything was meaningless.
This was memory.
Everything unfolding before him had already happened.
He could not rewrite a past that had long since become history.
Slowly, his movements stopped.
He raised his head and stared at the cold iron face of 047.
It resembled a masterpiece sculpted by some divine artist.
An angel mourning the suffering of mankind.
Only then did Lloyd understand.
These were not his memories.
They belonged to 047.
This...
This was everything that 047 had lived through.
"...Run..."
His voice cracked.
"You'll all die..."
The plea sounded pitiful.
Like the helpless cries of a stubborn child refusing to accept the inevitable.
Yet nothing changed.
That night had taken place many years ago.
Every hunter standing upon those sacred steps had already died before dawn.
Lloyd was nothing more than a mourner wandering through time itself.
Unable to save anyone.
Unable to change anything.
All he could do was watch as those destined for death marched steadily toward it.
They would die.
Pierced by swords and claws.
Torn apart.
Devoured.
Crushed beyond recognition.
Limbs and shattered organs would stain the sacred stones.
And no one would ever know.
They would disappear in silence beneath this merciless night...
As though they had never existed at all.
Lloyd stared blankly at the cathedral.
Its magnificent silhouette had begun to twist into something grotesque.
Barely above a whisper, he murmured,
"Tonight..."
"...the Great Sanctity descends upon this place."
Then it came.
Corruption.
It erupted like a boundless tide from beneath the earth—from the very heart of the glorious cathedral itself.
Like imprisoned demons finally breaking free.
Laughter echoed faintly through the darkness.
They had come to ignite this holy city.
To celebrate their freedom.
The corruption spread like an inverted whirlpool.
Endless torrents of invisible force burst outward from the cathedral's center, swallowing the Seven Hills within moments.
An unbearable pressure descended upon every conscious soul.
It clawed at the mind.
It tore at the spirit.
It felt as though the world itself were being ripped apart.
"Demon Hunters!"
047's eyes blazed with light as brilliant as the midday sun.
Raising his nailed sword high into the night, he unleashed a thunderous roar.
"Prepare for battle!"